


He's Got Me Pinned

by pansexualstein (octavia_romanus)



Category: Heavy Rain
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Choking, I don't even know how to tag this, M/M, Masochism, Murder Kink, based off this one playthrough, because lord knows we need more of that, guys this is horrible, i cannot believe there is a tag for that, i wrote most of this at five in the morning, just.... it's horrible, on norman's part, scott pov, this is just messed up all around, yes i can
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 12:10:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7360942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octavia_romanus/pseuds/pansexualstein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things get a little... hairy at the warehouse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He's Got Me Pinned

**Author's Note:**

> So my friend and I were talking about this one death for Norman at the warehouse and let's just say... some things were misinterpreted. This was mostly based off this Skype message: "SCOTT FUCKIGN GETTING OFF ON NORMAN'S CORPSE LIKE. WHO A.... BRAIN U OK???" And it was basically too perfect not to write.

He's got him.

Scott's holding the pipe so tight he swears he can taste the metal through his fingertips. Blood is pounding in his ears and he's breathing hard, not hard enough to need his inhaler, though that won't matter soon because the agent's squirming like a rat in a trap. His thin fingers scrabble for purchase against the bar and the stout counterparts simply press harder. It's amoral, this killing shit. Mr. Five-O should know that by now.

But then the agent locks eyes with him, green eyes meeting hazel in a moment of sheer determination. He should be dead. Scott knows that for a fact. He needs to die, but in that sheer irrational moment, the Origami Killer thinks that perhaps the agent _cannot_ die.

The man doubts himself and the agent goes in for the kill. He still cannot move, can barely breathe against the pressure on his throat, but his glare alone is all he needs to say. Scott prepares to snap his neck.

" _Kill_ me."

Scott blinks. "What did you say?" Since getting on the conveyor, neither of them have been very chatty and he's not sure how to feel about striking up a conversation now.

Jayden's eyes are fierce, filled with the intensity of a forest being struck by a hurricane. Even in adversity, his evergreen eyes stand strong. It would be admirable if it weren't so pointless. He's going to die in a few more seconds anyhow.

" _Kill_ me," he repeats, the same intonation, his eyes bloodshot from the pressure and some other hidden reason. It strikes the killer that he'll never truly know why his eyes are so red, nor why his hands are shaking like the San Andreas fault. "Go ahead'n do it-- but don't let Shaun Mars die."

This is new. Scott still has no sympathy, but, not unlike a bored teenager replaying a game just to see what happens, he's waiting for the rest to unfold. He's not quite aware of it yet, but he's not pressing as hard as before, so great is this new curiosity.

The agent sucks in a needy breath and it seems to steel him. His fingers grip the bar; he isn't a victim anymore. He's trying to own the punishment, hold onto it as if he's in control. "I promised Ethan-- I promised him I'd save his son."

He makes a strangled noise; the Origami Killer has re-applied his force, pushing the bulk of his weight onto the other's hips as well as into his neck. It's not enough, though. He's holding back.

"Where is the boy's father?"

The spark of determination doesn't fade. "In prison. I broke'm out once before. Can't do-- can't do anythin' now."

It strikes Scott for the first time that there are, indeed, other challenges that the fathers have to face. He's always assumed that if they really cared for their sons, they would simply overcome. He looks at Jayden-- he's a little young to have kids around John's age. Pity, really.

He thinks this but doesn't really mean it. It's been so long and he's found nothing, nobody-- it's a fool's cause and he knows it. But no one else has ever made it this far, much less a father. This agent, like it or not, is making Scott think.

If he could just find a father that would sacrifice himself, that would do anything to save his son, then he could die a happy man. But maybe that's just not possible. Or maybe he doesn't want to die just yet. The decision is agonizing-- he doesn't want to kill the bright-eyed thirty-something-year-old and yet he does. Failing to off the agent is a failure he can't afford. He's seen his face, discovered his identity.

An unfamiliar feeling twists in his gut and he leans in, applies his weight and relishes in the sick gulp that's issued from Jayden's needy throat. He leans further; Jayden's eyes bulge and he grips tight onto the metal bar as if it's his saving grace rather than the murder weapon.

It happens slowly, slower than Scott even realizes at first. He feels something shifting underneath his pelvis and sees the agent's expression glazing over at the same time.

It figures that he's a fucking fruit. And it looks like he's ripe for the picking.

Scott _grinds_.

The agent's face is more expressive than the killer's used to. He can see all of it written in his open mouth and glazed eyes-- the ill-contained desire, the disgust, the desperation. It's better than whiskey.

Jayden's puckering lips and gritting teeth; he's a paradox of moral duty and repressed desire. The Origami Killer leans in enough that his rank beer-soaked breath hits the other man. He recalls the yelps of terror, sweet music in Paco's office as he lets the agent live. Hell, it's a wonder that it's taken Scott this long to piece it together, to realize that if he presses, Jayden would cave, fall limp like the rag doll he is.

So he presses. Green eyes roll back, hands grip desperately at the detective's shoulders; he licks his lips and lets out a delectable groan, expelling much-needed air from his lungs and letting Scott absorb it from him. He refocuses on the killer, his next word deliberate.

_"Please."_

There's a moment of deliberation before the detective leans in to connect their trembling lips. Jayden moans as if he's been dreaming of this for years, and moves as if to turn Scott over, hands massaging broad shoulders and hips bucking up.

It's too good to be true. He could have fooled a simple mind, but Scott knows that his reaction is too dramatic, his frantic thoughts propelling his actions into hyperdrive.

Scott chuckles. "Eager," is all he says. But then his expression hardens with the reality of the task he's presented and the agent realizes he's failed, legs desperately kicking, an attempt to reclaim his life.

Green eyes meet hazel. Jayden looks terrified.

_Crack._

Scott's thick hands trail down the agent's limp body, savouring the way he looks and committing him to memory just as he is-- pretty and helpless. The killer stands, steps away from the other. He mouths _Stay there,_ as if Jayden has any choice. The look of sheer terror on the agent's face, the betrayal in his glassy eyes-- it's orgasmic. Scott laughs to himself.

He steps onto safe ground and watches the agent topple into the crusher, eyes filled with muted wistfulness. He does honour the agent's wishes-- he lets Shaun go. By the time the kid's recovered enough to talk about the incident, Scott will be long gone anyhow.

As for that night, he gets off on the news reports.


End file.
